


damsel in distress (fuck you)

by Karentt1



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Damsel in distress Jaskier, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Sexism, Sexual comments, but especially in a dress, geralt finds him hot whenever, he also kills a few men, i like to call this game kidnap the bard, i swear guys you dont even know how fucking self indulgent this is, i tried okay, im really sorry but the end scene is fucking horrible, jaskier has standards, jaskier turns into rapunzel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Jaskier gets kidnapped and locked in a tower. He also kills a few people, but don't worry, they deserve it.Geralt just wishes he didn't have to save Jaskiers ass once every month.(Also known as the fic where i only name Geralt and Jaskier)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 21
Kudos: 189





	damsel in distress (fuck you)

**Author's Note:**

> i can't even begin to describe how self indulgent this is. I was sitting there like "What long ass slow burn fic shall i write next" but I didn't, and this was born instead. 
> 
> I'm very sorry to those who read it,

“So when will you be back again?” 

Geralt looked over at Jaskier, an exasperated look on his face. He continued packing up his bag, and slung his swords over his shoulder. “I’ve already told you Jaskier,” he said, voice low. Outside the wind blew, screaming outside the inn. There was going to be a storm, and it was looking to be a bad one. 

“Yeah, but I forgot,” Jaskier pouted, and Geralt looked unimpressed, used to Jaskiers whining. Jaskier smiled at him, trying to appear as innocent as possible. It wasn’t his fault Jaskier kept getting distracted while he was talking. Maybe Geralt should try to be more interesting. 

Geralt continued to glare at him, until he finally relented. “I’ll be back in three to four days.” He walked over to Jaskier, and towered over him, trying to intimidate. Jaskier was sitting on the bed, and had to crane his head up to look into Geralt’s eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he growled, and Jaskier shivered. 

“When do I ever do stupid things?” he teased back, and tilted his head, anything to distract him from how close they were. The candle flicked slightly, bathing the room in a soft orange light. 

Geralt smiled sharply, and backed away, getting ready to leave. “I’ll write you a list when I get back,” he said, looking over his shoulder, and Jaskier laughed, feeling relieved that they were no longer close together. 

“Did you just make a joke?” he laughed, getting up and grabbing his lute, preparing to play downstairs for some coin. They hadn’t gotten a bard in their village for so long, and Jaskier knew he could get lots of money. “Didn’t know you could do that.” 

Geralt sent one last look over his shoulder, before walking out of the room. Jaskier followed him, and watched through the window as Geralt left the inn, leaving to fight monsters. He had gotten a contract as soon as he entered the village, but it was too dangerous for Jaskier to come with, and would take a few days to complete. Instead, Jaskier would remain behind, earning some coin for them. He would annoy the answers about the hunt from Geralt later. 

The inn was lively, and soon Jaskier was pulled away from the window, people demanding his songs, and who was he to deny them? He played his most popular songs, and the inn danced and stomped along to the beat. Coins clattered at his feet, but Jaskier knew he could do better. 

Thunder boomed outside, a background noise to Jaskiers songs. The rain poured down, like hail on the roof, and the wind sounded like people screaming. 

It was a lovely sort of high; making people fall in love with him using just his words. He knew he was beloved, could see it in the adoring glances women sent him, and the men who touched him intimately, a hand on his neck or ass. He could see it in the blush he could rise out of some people's skin as he moved past, winking and flirting. Halfway through one song, he climbed up onto a table and danced along it, his feet making a beat on the wood, as people helped him along, prepared to catch him if he fell. He hopped down, and the inn exploded into cheers. A mug of ale was pressed into his hands, and he drank it thankfully, happy to have something to cool his sore throat. A man tugged him into his lap, a large arm around his waist, and Jaskier wanted to punch him, but managed to restrain himself just in time, and escaped quickly. It wouldn’t help anyone if he were to start a riot in the place that was currently housing both him and a witcher. 

Throughout his performance, he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. It was a silly feeling; almost everyone in the inn had their eyes locked on him, but it felt different somehow. The eyes of the villagers felt warm on his skin, like sunlight, like adoration. Whoever, or whatever, was watching him made him feel icy, like he was walking through the woods on a cold winter's day, like he was a corpse abandoned on a mountain. He tried to shake off the feeling, knowing it was probably just his imagination from spending so much time with a monster hunter. 

The night grew darker and darker, and Jaskier was soon required to stop. His voice couldn’t take anymore singing. The people protested, yelling things that blended together, and Jaskier tried to wave them off, promising more tomorrow. They eventually let him leave, walking upstairs to rest, rubbing his aching throat. 

The rain poured harder, and it made Jaskiers head hurt, the constant pounding and flashes of light coming from outside. 

He made it upstairs on tired, achy limbs. The upstairs floor of the inn smelled sickly sweet, like mouldy flowers, and Jaskier breathed in the air confused. It hadn’t smelt like that before when he and Geralt got to the inn before. He could hear the people downstairs continue to drink and party, but it was muted. The air made him want to gag, and he dreaded sleeping with it all around him. He didn’t think he could. 

He stumbled slightly, his head cloudy, and with a start, he realised it was getting hard to think. “My head,” he whimpered, as he leaned against the wall for support. His room was only a few feet away, but it very well could have been oceans away. His feet were dragging on the floor, and his head felt too heavy for his body. His vision began to go black as he sank to the floor, his lute hitting the wood with a bang. 

Someone stepped over him, and picked up his limp body, fingers like claws, but Jaskier couldn’t fight them off, and he slowly felt himself sink into unconscious. 

* * *

Geralt returned from the hunt feeling tired, like his limbs were tied to rocks. No matter how much he wanted to admit it, in these moments he was happy Jaskier was with him; he was covered in monster guts and mud, and was looking forward to bathing, to Jaskier running his fingers through his hair, getting out the last of the intestines. Jaskier would speak in caring tones, and his fingers would be gentle against his scalp as he washed Geralt's hair. It was secretly his favourite part of the night, the feeling of being cared for, like he was more than what the world made him out to be. 

He made it back to the inn and entered, the door swinging open with a bang. The people inside instantly stopped and stared. Whispers flared up from the back as Geralt passed through, boots tracking guts into the inn. The servant girls looked close to complaining, but kept their mouths shut. Geralt knew he looked like hell, but the contact had been tough to complete, and all he wanted to do was relax and sleep off the potions that drained his energy. He didn’t care what the humans thought of him, all that mattered was that the job was done, and he could stop. 

He walked upstairs, ignoring the terrified looks being sent his way, and made it through the hallway. He opened the door to their room, expecting to see Jaskier writing ferociously in his journal, but to his surprise the room was empty. It looked like nobody had set foot inside of it the entire time he was gone. The bed was even made up, something Jaskier never did unless prompted. 

This was actually usual for him, for Jaskier to not be there to greet Geralt. Jaskier sometimes went into town to wander around and wouldn’t be back for a while. He would come back with new oils, perfumes, or clothes, all things Geralt deemed frivolous, and that Jaskier enjoyed. Geralt could still see Jaskiers bag by the bed, so he hadn’t just abandoned Geralt randomly. 

It still hurt though, knowing that Jaskier was somewhere else without him. He wouldn’t rub oil onto Geralt's sore muscles, or berate him for ruining his lovely hair with monster guts. He tried to ignore that; Jaskier could do whatever he wanted, Geralt wasn’t the boss of him. But Geralt had gotten used to coming back from a hunt, and finding Jaskier waiting for him excitedly. It felt weird when he wasn’t. 

With a grunt, Geralt threw down his swords, and started taking off his armour. The straps were difficult to work with, and Geralt was again reminded that if Jaskier was there, he would be doing this for him. One of the servant girls came up nervously, and asked if he would like a bath. Geralt nodded his confirmation and she ran off to prepare it for him. Geralt thought that maybe if Jaskier had been at the inn, the bath would have already been prepared, hot and steaming in their room. 

Fuck, when did he become domesticated? 

The servant girls began hauling up buckets of water, and pouring them into a giant copper tub. They asked him if he would like any soap, and Geralt declined, knowing that if Jaskier found out he used the cheap hotel stuff, he would throw a fit. Geralt instead rooted through Jaskiers bag, finding the oils and salts he used for baths. 

The hot water felt amazing on his aching muscles, and he settled in with a sigh. He used a little bit of lavender oil, and the scent was calming, filling the air with a peaceful aura. The dirt and blood slowly came off him into the water, and Geralt watched, not making a move to do it himself. He tried to wash his hair as best he could, but it wasn’t the same as when Jaskier was there, and Geralt felt alone, something he should be used to. He stitched up his wounds in silence, then stepped out of the tub, dripping water. He got dry, then put on a clean shirt and pants. Jaskier still hadn’t returned, and Geralt was growing worried, but he pushed it down. Jaskier had probably just found someone to spend the night with, and he would be back tomorrow morning, smiling happily, bruises on his neck and wrists that Geralt would pretend not to notice. Geralt just hoped he didn’t have to fight off any angry husbands. Again. 

Someone knocked on the door, and Geralt got up to open it. He knew it wouldn’t be Jaskier. Jaskier would have just walked right in, not caring about politeness, even though Geralt had been the one to buy the room. 

Outside was the innkeeper, a short man, with almost no hair on his head. “I see you have returned alive,” he said, his voice trembling, sounding almost disappointed. Geralt looked at him with a deadpan expression, waiting for him to continue. “Good for you. Well, here is your payment we promised. Thank you for your service.” His voice was high and squeaky, and Geralt wanted to punch him. 

Geralt took the bag of coins offered to him, and was about to shut the door again when the innkeeper interrupted him. “Oh, wait just a second. I almost forgot.” He reached down to grab something leaning against the wall, and then stood up. “I found this on the floor three night ago. If you see your friend, give this back to him, okay?” 

Geralt looked at Jaskiers lute, held incorrectly in the innkeeper's hands, and he felt a rising anger within him. He knew Jaskier would never go anywhere without it; loved that lute more than he loved life. “Why do you have that?” he growled, ripping it from the innkeepers hands roughly. If the man had the lute, had it for three days, then that must mean something bad happened to Jaskier. And Geralt wasn’t there to protect him. Fuck. 

“He hasn’t been around here since the first night,” the innkeeper explained, shaking with terror. “I don’t know where he is.” 

Geralt regarded him for a second, seeing no trace of a lie in his face, then slammed the door shut behind him. He could hear the innkeeper breathe a sigh of relief from behind the wooden door. 

Jaskier was often kidnapped. He was a friend of a witcher after all, it came with the job. But he had never been gone more than twenty-four hours. Geralt had always rescued him before then, and it had always been low level bandits, hoping to try their luck against a mutant. More like cowards, Geralt thought, if they were willing to kidnap an unarmed man just to get to him. 

Fuck, this was why he insisted on Jaskier carrying weapons, but the idiot didn’t listen to him, said it didn’t fit with his aesthetic. “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Jaskier often said, and Geralt wished he could be both. Maybe he wouldn't worry so much if he was. 

Geralt began to pack up, grabbing his swords and bags, including Jaskiers, knowing Jaskier would never forgive him if he left all his expensive clothes behind. 

He was tired, sore, and all he wanted to do was rest. But he couldn’t sleep peacefully knowing that Jaskier was missing. So he walked out of the inn, holding everything in his hands, and approached Roach. He hadn’t taken her on the hunt either, and she was rested and ready to go. He packed her up, then swung himself over her, sitting in the saddle. He rode out of the town, vowing to find Jaskier by the end of the week.

* * *

Jaskier woke up, head pounding, and his gaze foggy. He shifted slightly, and felt cool silk sheets against his legs. He was laying a large bed, fitted with dozens of soft pillows and blankets, fit for a Queen. Around the bed was pink sheer curtains, letting in some soft light. Jaskier blinked wearily, and stood up, the blankets pooling around his waist. 

Ah fuck, he was wearing a dress. It was a fairly nice one too, with gold threads, and blue silk, billowing over his legs. It looked like something a princess would wear. Jaskier just wanted to know who had changed him while he slept. He shivered just thinking about it. He slowly got up, the pain in his head subsiding, and pushed aside the curtains. He was in a large singular room, on a wooden balcony that overlooked the rest of the room. On it was the bed, a dresser filled with perfumes, combs and makeup, and a closet. Jaskier opened the closet door to reveal more dresses, all of varying fabrics. He couldn’t see where his clothes went, or if they were even in the room. At least the dresses looked fairly comfortable. 

He slowly walked down the stairs from the balcony, going downstairs. The room was circular, with a small kitchen to one side, a large marble bath in the middle of the room, and a table. A shelf full of books was under the stairs, and Jaskier recognised a few of the titles from his time at Oxenfurt. On the table was a large steaming bowl of soup, and Jaskier didn’t know who brought it for him. He couldn’t see anyone else in the room, and everything was exposed. There was no place to hide. It had appeared like magic.

His bare feet stumbled around the room, wondering how he had gotten there, his feet walking over a thick fur carpet. He refused to go near the soup, despite the gnawing hunger in his gut, not knowing if there was something in the food. Geralt always warned him against taking food that he didn’t know where it came from, and contrary to popular belief, Jaskier did listen to Geralt sometimes. 

He let his eyes wander through the room, and he caught sight of a closed window sill. He walked towards it, the dress moving around his legs like water. He made it and flicked the lock up. He smiled happily. “Who would lock this from the inside,” he muttered. He had an escape route. Whoever had kidnapped him wasn’t that smart apparently. Geralt would be so happy when he found out that Jaskier had rescued himself. “Take that Geralt, I can take care of myself,” he said triumphantly. 

He opened the window sill, and swung his legs over. He looked down, ready to jump off, and nearly screamed. 

One of the things Jaskier loved about sleeping outside was how tall the trees were. They would tower over him, and no matter how far he climbed, he could never get to the top. Now, he was staring down at the tops of those trees, his legs swinging in the open air, his bare toes going cold in the air. A strong wind blew through, and Jaskier could feel himself sway slightly. He could see the stone walls of the tower, and Jaskier knew he wouldn’t be able to climb down. 

He leaned backwards and fell back into the room, breathing heavily on the floor. He hated heights. He slowly got up again, feeling his heartbeat go back to normal. So he wouldn't be able to leave that way, unless he was suicidal. Fuck. 

He began looking around the room with a newly critical eye. He couldn’t see any doors, but there had to be a way out. He hadn’t just been teleported there. His eyes caught on the fur rug, and he tugged it aside, hoping to find a trap door. To his disappointment, there was none. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, but he could see no outline. If there was, he wouldn’t be able to get up there anyway. Even from the balcony the ceiling was high up, impossible to touch. There was a skylight there, made of what looked to be milky crystal, and Jaskier knew he wouldn't be able to break it. 

The bowl of soup was still steaming on the table, and he could feel himself get angry. He stalked over to it, and picked it up. It was onion, with plenty of salt, and Jaskier frowned. It was his favourite kind. How had they known that? He walked back over to the window, and tossed it out, watching the bowl fall to the ground. He couldn’t see it land, couldn’t hear anything. 

Now that he was not dangling out of the window, hanging by the sill, he could appreciate the beauty around him. It looked like a pretty secluded area, with trees as far as he could see. In the background were some mountains, blocking the area like guards so that no one could get through. Cutting through the woods was a large river, looking like liquid gold in the light. The sun was about to set, and Jaskier watched as the sky turned into a watercolour painting before his eyes. The air was cold and biting, especially because he was so high, and he soon had to close the window, shivering. It was dark inside of his tower, the milky crystal turning pink with the sunset, and Jaskier saw some candles and matches. He lit them, and watched as the room turned orange. There was a fireplace in the wall, but Jaskier didn’t want to light it at the moment. There was a thing of wood by the side, and Jaskier didn’t know if it would be replenished or not. 

He couldn’t escape; he would have to rely on Geralt to come rescue him. Unless he could find some other way, maybe a hidden door or staircase that would let him leave, he would have to let Geralt come to him. That meant he had to wait. Whoever had kidnapped him hadn’t hurt him yet, and Jaskier would have to rely on them for a little bit longer until Geralt could find him. 

He collapsed at the table, and put his head into his arms, feeling the hunger in his gut grow larger. He could feel a sense of terror fill him. He didn’t know why he was kidnapped, or even who was the culprit. Somehow, he didn’t think this was something to do with Geralt, like his usual kidnapping attempts were. That scared him more than anything; he didn’t know what they wanted from him. He looked up from his arms, then gasped loudly. 

On the table, where nothing had been a second ago, there now was a notebook and a quill, with expensive ink. Jaskier reached towards them hesitantly, and grasped them tight. They were real. He tugged both towards him, and lit another candle so he could see better. 

If he had to wait for Geralt to come rescue him, he could at least get some song writing done. All in all, there were worst place to be kidnapped in.

* * *

Geralt rode across the road, not knowing where he was going. There were no leads to where Jaskier had ended up, so he was just riding aimlessly, hoping to come across a clue. He assumed that Jaskier had been kidnapped as an attempt to get to him, and he knew of a fairly big gang of people who still held a grudge against him, after he had saved a monster rather than kill it like he was supposed to. They were annoying, but organised, and Geralt knew that they probably knew something about Jaskiers disappearance. 

Jaskiers lute bounced against Roach as he rode, and Geralt cringed every time Roach went over a particularly nasty bump. Jaskier would kill him if his lute was brought back to him in less than perfect shape, and dealing with an angry Jaskier wouldn’t be fun. 

He made it into a village by nightfall, and hopped off Roach. He grabbed his and Jaskiers bags, and the lute, then went into the inn. A stable hand took Roach’s reins, and Geralt wanted to rip them away from him, but he needed to get a room. Normally Jaskier would do that for him, but Jaskier wasn’t there. He frowned as he realised how dependent he had gotten on the bard. 

He entered the inn, and everyone turned to him, judgement in their eyes. Geralt met all of their eyes, glaring, and they looked back down at their meals. “Room for one,” he growled, and the woman in charge looked at him like he was the scum of the earth. She rolled her eyes, and held out her hand for some coins, and Geralt dropped them into her hands. He was running low, so he would have to take some tiny contracts while in the village, so he could continue looking for Jaskier. If it was really the gang who kidnapped him, then they would keep him alive long enough for Geralt to watch him die. It was a slim hope, but he needed the coin, so it was the only thing he had. 

Some trembling farmer approached him after, telling about some monsters in his fields that had been eating his crops and animals. He offered a good amount of coin for it, and Geralt took it, preparing to fight. As he left, some brave soul approached him as he was about to walk out the door. 

“Where’s your bard witcher?” he asked, “He would be mighty useful here today. We’re in need of some good entertainment, and we hear he’s the best.” 

Geralt didn’t know how to tell him he wanted to know the exact same thing. 

* * *

The next morning, Jaskier woke up back in the bed, the blankets just as soft as before. He couldn’t remember coming back to it last night. The last thing in his memories was him writing down some song lyrics, eyes fluttering with fatigue, then falling asleep on the table. He was wearing the same dress as yesterday, and he went into the closet to change, picking a purple dress with silver flowers stitched on. If he was going to be kidnapped, he might as well look nice during it. He tried some of the perfume on the desk, finding scents like rose, vanilla, and cinnamon. The makeup was expensive but old, he could tell that much. He decided to use it later, when he got really bored. 

He walked downstairs, and breakfast was waiting for him, some buttered bread and pulled pork. A glass of milk and a bar of dark chocolate was on the side. Jaskier approached it warily, the scent filling the air. His mouth watered, and his stomach rumbled, and he remembered how he hadn’t eaten supper. Whoever had made it was clearly incredibly talented, but he still didn't know where it came from. He tried a small bite of the bread, and found that it tasted amazing. He ate the rest of the breakfast reluctantly, prepared to stop if anything tasted strange. 

He finished and left the table, leaving his plates stacked up. When he turned back they were gone. He didn’t even hear anything, had only turned his back for a second. He could feel someone's eyes on him for a brief second, before the feeling disappeared. 

Jaskier approached the marble rub slowly. It was big, big enough to fit both him and Geralt comfortably, and made of bright green rock. The copper faucet was shiny, and Jaskier flicked it on. Hot water poured out into the tub, and Jaskier wondered where it was coming from. The water was clear, but steaming, and Jaskier could see different oils and salts. He could see a chamomile one and poured it in, the delicate scent filling the air. He undressed and stepped into the tub, the hot water burning his skin. It was perfect, and he shut off the faucet after a few minutes. He relaxed, stretching out his legs. He couldn’t feel anyone's eyes on him, so he felt comfortable enough to begin washing his hair. The soap smelled like roses, a typical feminine scent, and Jaskier breathed it in. 

He stepped out of the tub after almost an hour of relaxing, and put back on the dress. He wondered if this place used to belong to a princess, if she had been kidnapped like him. If that was true, then he didn’t know why he was there, or what purpose he served. 

Now that he was clean and full, he began exploring the place fully, looking to find a way to escape. The kitchen was nothing but a hearth, and a shelf full of spices. A basket of apples was hanging on a hook, and Jaskier took one, washing it in a bucket of cold water. It was sweet and crispy, and the juice ran down his chin. He wiped it away with a cloth he found in one of the drawers. 

He continued walking around, and he could see the shelf full of books under the stairs. On the bottom shelf however, was some paint and a lute, which he was very thankful for. He took it out, and it wasn’t as well made as the one given to him by the elf king, but he was still happy the instrument was here. He felt much better now that he was able to play some music. The walls were empty as well, made of smooth stone, and Jaskier knew that if he got particularly bored, he could paint them. 

To the side was a chamber pot, and a basin full of water. He wrinkled his nose at it, and continued walking along, running his fingers along the stone, but there was no catch, no hidden compartment. He couldn’t see any way out, and began wondering if he had gotten there by magic. 

Lunchtime soon came, and a sandwich appeared on the table, with some cut greens and an orange, something that was usually rare. Jaskier ate it slowly as well, looking for any signs of poison. Everything tasted delicious. His search for a way out was fruitless, so he continued writing songs, playing the notes on the lute. It didn’t play as well as his last one, and he could hear the difference in the music. 

Supper appeared randomly soon after, and Jaskier ate that as well, a steak with green beans, and a small vanilla cake. With a start, he realised he spent the entire day in the tower, the first time. He made a small mark on the wall with his quill, indicating a day had passed, and then he trudged upstairs to the bed, and collapsed inside it, making himself comfortable. 

Fuck, he was fucking bored. This was horrible. Geralt had better get there soon to save him. 

* * *

Geralt swung his sword, cutting into the monster's head. Blood and guts went everywhere, and he tried to duck, so he wouldn’t have to bathe again. It kind of worked, and Geralt knew that he could just use a cloth to get the dirt off his face. He severed the head from its body, and began walking back to the village, using the head as proof of his victory. The farmer thanked him happily, and paid him in full, and Geralt was still surprised by how well Jaskier’s song had worked for him. People still scorned him, but it happened way less, and he got paid full price more often. 

He walked into the inn, and went into his room. He sustained no injuries from the battle, at least no serious ones, but he had accidentally reopened the stitches from before. He fixed it again, wishing Jaskier was there to do it for him, then went to sleep, resolving to continue his search in the morning. The money the farmer gave him would last a while, as long as he slept outside, and didn’t waste it on frivolous things, the way Jaskier did. He wouldn’t be able to put aside his hunting for a few days to look for his companion. 

The next morning he left, riding south. He knew the gang he was after was only a few hours away, mainly staying in one village. He pushed Roach faster, desperate to get to Jaskier. He had a strict no murder policy when it came to humans, but if even a hair on Jaskiers head was harmed, he was perfectly comfortable with breaking it. 

But he didn’t care about Jaskier. He just liked having someone pamper him the same way Jaskier did. The same way no one else in the world did. 

He managed to get there within the day, just as the sun was setting, and through the pub windows, he could the leader laughing with his friends, clearly celebrating their victory over Jaskier. Geralt could feel himself getting angrier, a fire in his stomach burning his lungs. 

He kicked open the door to the pub, swords drawn, and he stalked in, glaring at the leader. The occupants of the pub scrambled up as he walked through, running to the sides, not willing to face down an angry witcher. 

“Where is he?” he growled, placing the edge of his sword under the leader's chin. The other members raised their own swords to him, but the leader waved a hand, and they dropped them, albeit reluctantly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the leader said, his voice higher than usual, trying to talk around a sword at his neck. He looked simultaneously smug and scared, and Geralt was almost impressed. 

“You heard me,” Geralt said, pushing the weapon deeper into his skin. A bead of blood appeared, and dripped down his throat, into his shirt. “Where is Jaskier?” 

A flash of recognition went through the leaders eyes, and Geralt hated him even more for it. “Oh, you’re looking for your bard? Couldn’t save him huh?” He laughed, despite the near death he was facing. “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t know where he is. But good job to whoever managed to get to him. I wish I could have. What an accomplishment, eh?” He turned his eyes to his friends, and they all chuckled slightly. Geralt wanted to kill them all. 

Geralt kept his sword at his throat for a few more seconds, before dropping it. “Are you lying?” he said, keeping his sword grasped firmly, but away from the leader. He was ready to swing it again the second he confessed to anything. 

“Sorry,” the leader shrugged, rubbing at his throat. “Good luck finding him, I guess. But I haven’t seen him since the last time he passed by.” 

Geralt sighed, then backed away. So they didn’t have Jaskier. He briefly considered if they might be lying, but they had no reason to keep Jaskier from him. If they wanted revenge on him, they would have been gloating the second he walked in. 

He turned to walk away, and the leader called after him. “Maybe you should just leave him where he is. He’s probably a lot safer than with you.” 

All his friends laughed, and Geralt flipped them off. He left the inn, feeling lost, as if he were walking through a dream. If they didn’t have Jaskier, then who did? He couldn’t think of anyone else who would want to get revenge on him, nor anyone who hated Jaskier. 

Well, that was a lie. There was every scorned husband and wife Jaskier had ever slept with, but narrowing that down would take years. Geralt didn’t even want to consider trying. 

Geralt grabbed Roach, then went into the woods, looking for a place to camp for the night, not willing to stay in the inn he just threatened. 

He had no more leads to where Jaskier could be. He wondered if maybe Jaskier had just abandoned him, given up on the witcher's way of life, then dismissed that thought. If he had, he would have taken his lute as well. 

He found a place, then began to unpack, and made a fire, the light filling the woods. The woods were silent, and Geralt felt a stab of loneliness, then hated himself for it. He was a witcher, he didn’t get lonely, he was destined to walk the Path alone. But Jaskier had wormed his way into his life, dug himself a place in Geralt's heart. Geralt could no longer imagine a world without Jaskier, dreaded it. 

If Jaskier had been there, he would have been talking, not shutting up despite how much Geralt growled and threatened him, and he would be playing his new music, writing new lyrics. He would be bugging Geralt for more stories from before Jaskier disturbed his life, poking him as if he wasn’t a deadly killing machine and could snap his neck without even thinking about it. 

Jaskier was never scared of him. 

The night was silent, and Geralt found himself missing Jaskier. 

* * *

It had been a week since Jaskier had been kidnapped, and he was just about ready to toss himself out of the window, if only to have some excitement in his life. He had a grand total of seven baths, had written five new songs, and already painted half a wall. It was a swirling galaxy he remembered viewing through a telescope while he was at Oxenfurt, surrounded with other students to the astronomy tower, wrapped in blankets, admiring the stars. He missed his university. 

The meals always came at the same time, in moments when Jaskier wasn’t looking. He spent one lunch hour staring at the table, waiting for the food to appear. He blinked for one second, and suddenly it was there, and he could feel eyes on him, watching his every move. It was terrifying and unsettling, but he hadn’t been hurt yet, so he wasn’t that worried. He was settling into his new home, begging the gods to come save him. He couldn’t see anyway out, had looked in every nook and cranny, and couldn’t find anything. 

Salvation came one day. Jaskier was sitting at the window sill, singing into the air, his voice clear and echoing through the forest. He had gotten over his fear of heights a few days ago, and was enjoying the way his dress, a bright red one this time, was blowing in the wind, when he heard someone call up to him from the bottom of the tower. 

“My fair maiden, I heard your beautiful singing from across the woods and I had to find you. How may I assist you?” a male voice called, and Jaskier startled. He briefly wondered why he had been called maiden, then realised he was wearing a dress, and singing in high tones. Of course the man thought he was a lost princess. 

He could use that to his advantage. He couldn’t see the man, but he could see a pure white horse through the trees. The man had heard his singing, and had come to save him. “Waiting for someone to come up here and rescue me, my dear,” he said, making his voice higher, then cringed. That didn’t like anything a princess would say, but the man underneath believed it. 

“Fear not, dear maiden, for I, Prince Charleston of the Northern Gates, will come rescue you from your plight.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and tried to make his voice sound excited, to try and sell the illusion. “Oh, how brave of you,” he said, making his voice sound breathy, and he could almost smell the male pride the prince was full of. 

“My dear, I have a rope, but it isn’t high enough to get to you from here. So I’ll climb up halfway, then throw it up to you, got it?” The prince spoke like he was speaking to a child, full of patronising tones, and Jaskier wanted to punch him in his teeth. Prince Charleston was obviously an entitled prick, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and if the prince wanted to believe he was rescuing a fair maiden, then Jaskier would let him. 

“Of course, my dear prince,” he said instead, hearing the prince begin to make his climb, two daggers fitting into the space where the stones met. Jaskier wished he could do that, but he couldn't find anything sharp enough to use. 

“I cannot see your face,” the prince was saying as he climbed, “but I just know that it is the most beautiful in all the land. Why else would you be locked up here, far away from those who want to take your beauty and innocence for their own. You poor sweet thing. Your voice is sweeter than sugar, my dear. I already know you’re perfect for me.” 

Jaskier resisted the urge to gag, and instead racked his brain for compliments to give back. “And I know that you are the most dashing prince of them all,” he called down, giving a large fake smile. “You’re so brave to be here, climbing up to rescue me. I was waiting for someone to come find me for so long.” 

The prince stopped, and Jaskier could see the beginnings of broad shoulder, and pitch black hair. “Of course you were waiting,” the prince said, “the mere idea of trying to escape from this cruel place is beyond you. Obviously you had to wait for someone as brave as me to come rescue you, as the idea has obviously never crossed your mind! You females are so delicate and fragile, and you have to depend on men like me to protect you. You should feel lucky I was passing by.” 

Think of the escape, think of the escape, think of the escape. Jaskier repeated those words like a mantra in his head. Jaskier clenched his fists, until he drew blood, trying to let out his anger. If the prince wanted a delicate maiden to rescue, Jaskier was going to give him one. “Oh, I didn’t even think of that! I’m so glad we have people like you to save us,” Jaskier cooed, trying to sound as air headed as possible. 

The prince stopped, then held on with one hand as he unwrapped the rope from his shoulder. “I’ll be throwing the rope up now, do you think you can handle that?” 

“Of course,” Jaskier called, then the rope was in his view. Jaskier reached out and grasped it, the scratchy threads digging into his palms. It felt heavy in his hands. He unravelled it, then allowed the prince to grab it and begin to climb. 

“You did so well, my dear,” the prince called up, and Jaskier grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. “I bet you can’t wait to go back with me to my kingdom, where I can make you my wife, and be mine forever.” He was nearly there, only a few more minutes to go, and Jaskier bid his time. “You can become the Queen of the land, and you’ll be protected from everyone who tries to hurt you, or take you from me for your beauty and innocence. And of course you’ll bear me some children, and live to pleasure me-” 

Jaskier let go of the rope. 

Prince Charleston screamed as he fell, then his body landed with a sickening crunch. Jaskier looked down, not feeling the least bit sorry. 

He turned back into his tower, and it almost seemed like the silence was judging him. “Look, he was a douche bag, I don’t want to be rescued by him. What do you think he would have done if he found out I wasn’t a woman? I pity the woman in his kingdom,” he huffed. He brushed off his dress, and closed the window sill. “There will be more, hopefully ones who don’t treat women like property. Better ones. Besides, this isn’t so bad here. I can stay for another week or so.” 

* * *

Geralt continued to ride through the lands, trying to find where Jaskier could have gone. He could hear no mention of the bard, no matter how far he rode, and if Jaskier had been kidnapped for a ransom from him, he hadn’t gotten a letter yet. 

He had gone through multiple villages and asked about Jaskier. Some of them had turned him away, some had offered him a room to stay, but none of them knew where Jaskier had gone. Not one. No one had seen him since he had been kidnapped, nearly a month ago. Geralt didn’t know what else to do, or where else to go. 

He was riding through the fields, when he caught sight of a yellow buttercup surrounded by the green grass, reminding him of his lost companion. He continued riding along, until the both sides of him were full of the flower, waving in the wind. The air was sweet, and Geralt could help but think that if Jaskier was there with him, he would find it beautiful. 

“Come on Geralt, we’ve been riding for hours,” he would say, and run off into the fields, until he found a tree to sit under and compose. Geralt would threaten to leave him behind, knowing that both he and Jaskier knew he would never do that. He would drag Roach under the shade, and join Jaskier under the tree, where Jaskier would have started a new song, but gotten distracted, and was drawing buttercups instead. It would have been a happy, perfect day, no matter how bad Geralt protested. 

But Jaskier wasn’t there. 

“Where are you Jaskier?” Geralt muttered under his breath, then urged Roach forward, to find a new village. 

* * *

So they weren’t better. Not at all. Each new prince was progressively worse than the last. One of them had described every single thing he wanted to do to Jaskiers virginity and Jaskier had punched him in the face the second he made it to the window sill. 

“What?” he said to the silence, and whoever had kidnapped seemed to be laughing somewhere. “They’re pricks. Every single one of them. I bet none of them have had sex in their life.” 

Ever since his first attempted rescue, princes and kings from all over the land were coming to his tower, hoping to save the fair maiden inside. Jaskier still sang his songs out of the window, voice echoing through the world. He wished Geralt would find him soon. 

He was wearing a soft pink dress, with a white overcoat. His hair had gotten longer over the last month, brushing his neck, and his cheeks were bright red with rouge. To tell the truth, it wasn’t that bad up in the tower. He was safe, he had things to do, and the food was delicious. He figured out halfway through the month that whoever had kidnapped him wasn’t trying to hurt him, and if he asked for anything at all, it was given to him. Except for freedom, but that wasn’t surprising. 

“Princess, I have come to rescue you,” someone called from below, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“Brave knight, I appreciate your efforts. You’re so kind to me,” Jaskier called down, then gagged. He could see the top of someone's head emerge, blond hair and a crown outlined with jewels. 

“Save your voice princess,” the prince called, “you’ll need it when your mouth is wrapped around my-” 

Jaskier didn’t even let him finish, just dropped a heavy book out the window. It hit the man on the head, and the man lost his balance and fell to his death. Jaskier brushed off his hands, then looked into the tower. He could feel his kidnappers eyes on him, silently judging. “Y’know, I don’t know when my standards got this high, but I am not being rescued by some horny motherfucker, who wants me to be his ‘little wife’.” 

He shut the window sill, and walked inside the tower. On the table was a small desert, like an apology for the men's behaviour, and Jaskier ate it gratefully. “I mean, honestly. I would let them rescue me, if they were kind, loving people. It’s not that hard to be respectful.” 

The next day, there was another attempt. A man had walked up, and called to Jaskier. Jaskier prepared himself to be degraded yet again, but this man was kind, and spoke in loving tones. Jaskier thought that he might be the one and allowed him to climb up. He was fairly handsome too, with curly red hair and bright green eyes, and Jaskier internally swooned. 

“Now my fair maiden,” the man said, stepping into the room, “Where is your bed, so I can officially claim you as my property-” 

Jaskier pushed him out, disappointed and angry. “Fuck you,” he yelled as the man fell to his death. “I’m no one's property, bitch.” 

He watched as the man disappeared below the trees, then headed back inside. “Do you think I should feel bad over the amount of men I’ve killed?” he asked, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m doing their mothers a favour. When I get rescued by either someone polite, or Geralt, I promise I’ll forever be kind to every woman I meet.” He paused for a second. “I doubt I’ll trust another man again either,” he muttered. “Except Geralt. Geralt is good.” 

He stopped and imagined what it would be like when Geralt finally found him and took him away from the tower. He’d be sad to leave, but Jaskier was getting restless. He desperately wished to explore the world again by Geralt's side again. “Of course Geralt will come for me,” he said, sounding sure. “He would never leave me behind. Geralt is kind, loyal, and even though he doesn’t look like it, he’s very gentle. Also he is really handsome, like holy fuck.” 

His kidnapper seemed to be laughing at him, and Jaskier bristled. “Yeah, I’m in love with him, what about it? He’ll never love me back, but at least I can be his friend.” He smiled sadly, and he could have sworn he felt some fingers in his hair, brushing his hair aside. The gaze of the kidnapper still made him shiver with the cold, but now it was almost comforting. 

“Well,” he sighed, “There is nothing else I can do but wait.” 

* * *

Geralt was riding through a village when he first heard the story about the lost maiden. “They say she has a voice as sweet as honey, and is protected by a ferocious monster who kills every single man who tries to save her,” one of the village women whispered to her friend. 

“Poor dear,” the other woman said, voice full of pity. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in isolation your entire life.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, then continued on, still searching for Jaskier. He could care less about a lost maiden. He gave Roach to one of the stable boys, then walked into the tavern. Everyone glanced up at him suspiciously as he walked through, and he tried to ignore them, used to their stares. He sat down at a table, and waved over a waitress for some food and a mug of ale. She brought it over a few minutes later, and Geralt paid her with some coins. 

He ate in peace for a few minutes, trying to figure out what his next move was going to be to find Jaskier, when he was approached by a man. The man wore expensive clothes, and wore jewels on his fingers, and Geralt knew he was rich, most likely a local lord. He smelled of entitlement and superiority. Geralt hated him right away. 

“Hey witcher, I have a job for you,” he whispered, and Geralt grunted, urging him on. He didn’t want to do a job, but he was losing coins fast, and if he didn’t replenish soon, he wouldn’t be able to save Jaskier. “I’m sure you’ve already heard about the lost maiden, locked away from the world, correct?” At Geralt's tiny nod, the man continued talking. “That poor girl is my daughter, she has been missing for years, and I need you to get her back for me.” The man's voice was full of fake sorrow. 

Geralt could smell the lie on him, could see the lust in his eyes. “I don’t concern myself with human matters,” he grunted, sipping his ale. The man narrowed his eyes, and Geralt could see he was used to getting what he wanted from people. He wasn’t used to being told no. 

“Ah, but it’s no human matter. Not at all. No man who had gone there has come back. She’s protected by some sort of monster that you’ll need to kill. I’ll even double my prices, but you have to get her back for me.” 

Geralt considered it. He could kill the monster and rescue the girl, but there was no way he was giving her to the man. He didn’t know what the man wanted with her, just that it wasn’t good. “Fine,” he grunted, standing up. “Where is she?” 

The man told him the presumed location of the maiden, and Geralt rode out. He wondered what kind of monster was protecting the maiden, or why. He really hoped it wasn’t another secret romance, where the princess was in love with the beast, like it always seemed to be. 

He went through the forest and began to hear singing. It sounded slightly familiar, but he put that thought aside. He had a job to do so he could continue looking for Jaskier. The closer he got, the more bodies he could see. Most of them had broken limbs or broken necks, and Geralt wrinkled his nose. The singing got louder, and then Geralt could see a tower, standing high among the trees. The singing was coming from there. 

He made it to the base and hopped off Roach. Roach pawed the ground, looking nervous. Geralt cleared his throat and wondered what to say. “Hello?” he called, and the singing stopped. 

“Geralt?” someone said, and Geralt would recognise the voice anywhere. 

“Jaskier?” 

* * *

Jaskier peered down, trying to see Geralt. He could see Roach, but he couldn’t see the white hair. “It took you long enough,” he called down, and he could hear Geralt snort. “Now come up and rescue me please.” 

“Patience Jaskier,” Geralt called up, a laugh in his voice, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“I have been in this fucking tower for a month and a half, I want to get out,” he called down. He could hear Geralt begin to climb, the daggers hitting the stone, and he felt a flash of relief. He would be leaving soon. He looked down and saw he was wearing a yellow dress with white lace along the bottom and his collar. He fixed his hair, trying to look presentable for Geralt. 

“So I assume you’re the maiden people have been talking about?” Geralt grunted, nearly halfway up. Jaskier figured the witcher strength came in handy sometimes, because he was scaling the tower faster than any of the men before. 

“I have no idea where they got the idea I was a maiden. I don’t even sound like a girl,” Jaskier protested, nearly vibrating the excitement. He was desperate to be free, away from the tower. The walls were covered in paintings, and he had filled three notebooks with song lyrics, full of songs he would never sing. He was ready to leave, to be free again, in the open woods. 

Geralt heaved himself onto the window sill, then entered the tower, breathing heavily. Jaskier ran up to him, and threw his arms around Geralt, holding him tight, happy to be near him again. “Geralt, thank the Lord, I have to get out of here.” He pulled away from Geralt, and beamed. 

Geralt didn’t say anything back, and Jaskier waved a hand in front of his face, confused. Geralt looked weird, like he was considering something carefully. His eyes went up and down Jaskier’s body, and Jaskier went red, realising what he was wearing. Geralt looked like he wanted Jaskier, and while Jaskier was flattered, all he cared about was getting out of the tower. 

“Yes Geralt, I am aware I am incredibly hot in this outfit, and yes, I am attracted to you too. But right now, I just wanna leave this place, and if you start acting like those men who came up here to rescue me, I will stab you. Don’t test me.” 

Geralt shook his head, like he was clearing some thoughts from his mind, and Jaskier sighed. Geralt had a coil of rope around his shoulders, and Jaskier took it from him, and unravelled it. He attached to the table leg, and threw it out the window. “Come on Geralt, let’s go,” he said impatiently, but Geralt stopped him. 

“Jaskier, who kidnapped you?” He looked angry, ready to fight whoever had hurt Jaskier, and Jaskier was filled with warmth, watching Geralt prepare to hurt whoever took him away. 

“It doesn’t matter, we just need to leave-” 

“It was me.” 

Jaskier turned, and sitting at the table was a woman he had never seen before. She had black curly hair, and brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. She looked around forty, and she stood up, sauntering over to them. Geralt sheathed his sword, and held it out, pushing Jaskier behind him, and growled threateningly. 

“Oh none of that,” she drawled and pushed the sword away from her. She walked closer, and Geralt moved back, taking Jaskier with him. “I just came to say goodbye.” 

Jaskier poked his head out from behind Geralt. “Goodbye,” he said, and waved. The woman waved back, and Geralt rolled his eyes. 

“Why did you kidnap him?” he asked, still sounding suspicious. 

The woman sighed, and looked at the floor sadly. “Well you see, this used to be me and my daughter's home. We’re two powerful witches, who protected this land from evil. But a few years ago, she was killed by some hunters while outside, and I swore revenge.” The woman teared up while she was speaking, and Jaskier pushed past Geralt to comfort her. Geralt let him go, feeling confused. “I killed them, but my life was incomplete without my daughter. So I had a brilliant plan; I would bring young folk here to fill in her spot, so I could take care of them the same way I took care of my daughter.” 

By the end of the story Jaskier was crying with the woman. Geralt looked at her like she was crazy. “That’s not a valid reason to kidnap someone,” he grunted, but Jaskier shushed him. 

“Have some sympathy you brute,” he said, hugging the woman tight. “This woman has lost her daughter. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with you ma’am. I wish I could, but my place is out there, in the wild.” 

“I know,” the woman sniffled, “That's why I'm letting you go. But I’ll miss you anyway.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” Jaskier said, then let go of her. “I promise to write, and I’ll come back to visit every year. You have my word.” 

The woman smiled. “Thank you,” she said gratefully, and Jaskier nodded. 

“Does no one else see a problem with this?” Geralt said, but they ignored him. The woman snapped her fingers, and suddenly they were at the bottom of the tower. Jaskier waved goodbye to the woman, and they left the tower, walking back to the village. 

“You wouldn't believe how awful those men were,” Jaskier said, stepping over a body with curly red hair, and Geralt grunted, happy to have his friend back, although he was still very confused about what just happened. 

* * *

“As much as I loved those dresses, I am very grateful to be wearing pants again,” Jaskier said loudly. Geralt had given back his clothes, and Jaskier eagerly changed, and had come back wearing his signature undone doublet and matching pants. “Although I really should have asked who her tailor was, because damn, those clothes were amazing. Probably really expensive too.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes and tried to pretend he hated the noise, but he was happy to have Jaskier back, rambling by his side. He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he had missed the bard. Jaskier approached the campfire Geralt had made, where two rabbits were roasting over the fire. Geralt was sitting on a log he had dragged over, watching them cook. 

Jaskier was silent for a few seconds, before he opened his mouth again. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that you found me extremely hot in a dress, or can I just forget about that?” 

Geralt grunted. Yes, the bard had been really pretty in a dress, and Geralt would have been a fucking fool not to have seen that. “I always find you attractive, Jaskier,” and Jaskier began to splutter, sounding confused and outraged. 

“You never told me that,” he yelled, pointing at Geralt accusingly, and Geralt rolled his eyes. He thought it was common knowledge; Jaskier was pretty fucking attractive. But apparently Jaskier didn’t know. 

“Come here,” he said, and Jaskier walked over, and Geralt marvelled at how that was something Jaskier listened to. You’d expect him to be wary after the first time Geralt asked that, he punched Jaskier in the gut. 

Jaskier moved in front of him, and Geralt grabbed a fist full of his shirt, and tugged Jaskier down so he could press their lips together. Jaskier's eyes widened, but then he shut them, leaned into the kiss, falling onto Geralt’s lap. They kissed for a few minutes, then Jaskier had to pull away for air. 

“Holy fuck,” Jaskier said, sounding dazed and Geralt laughed. 

“Does that answer your question?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier nodded wildly. Jaskier leaned down, and kissed Geralt again, more firmly this time. Geralt kissed back, and they sat there for a few minutes until Geralt had to push Jaskier away, lest their meat burn over the fire. 

“Don’t get yourself kidnapped next time,” Geralt said, flipping the meat onto the other side. “I won’t rescue your ass again.” 

“You don’t always have to rescue me, I can usually handle it,” Jaskier argued back, getting off Geralt's lap onto the log. Geralt missed Jaskiers weight on his thighs already. 

“Jaskier, you turn into a fucking damsel in distress every month,” Geralt snorted. “I’d like to see you handle it just once in my life.” 

Jaskier turned to him, a fire in his eyes, and raised his fists. “Call me damsel one more time, and I swear I’ll shove a fucking log up your ass.” 

Geralt laughed loudly at his anger. The sound echoed through the forest and for the first time in a long while, Geralt was happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading my bullshit!


End file.
